


Here, There and Nowhere

by Bur_ning



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, How do you get a beta reader???, M/M, Memory Loss, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Working title, emphasis on the memory loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-26 16:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bur_ning/pseuds/Bur_ning
Summary: In which a car crash changes everything.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison & Paul McCartney, George Harrison & Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. In which we begin the story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to read and write on my phone, so sorry if the formatting looks a bit odd on computer.
> 
> No explicit Mclennon, that stuff is weird to me and wouldn't make much sense in the context of this story. (Also I'm just sex repulsed in general and skip those parts in fics when I get to them. It's surprising how little sex contributes to most stories.)

The first thing he felt was something digging into his skin. His eyes shot open, and with a yelp he realized that there was something sharp pressed into his arm. His first instinct was to move his arm away, but it wouldn't move. Why wouldn't it move?

It was dark, wherever he was. His head was spinning, and he felt something wet drip down his face, something that was not water. His head was pressed against a ceiling of some sort, and it was buzzing, a subtler pain than whatever was going on with his arm.

His breath sped up as his eyes darted about, trying to make out anything. He could see some faint moonlight up ahead, reflected on some grass, and in turn reflected on shards of glass. Glass?

It must be a broken window, he realized with a twist of his gut. He tried to shift from where he was trapped, but the pain shooting through his body stopped him. But from the small sensation that wasn't pain he felt something pressed against his chest. _Seat belt,_ his mind offered, and it all made sense: he was trapped in a car. It must've crashed or something, for him to be this beat up.

Was he the one driving it? He frowned, realizing he couldn't really recall getting in a car, or driving it, or even owning one in the first place.

Suddenly, a noise interrupted the still that had overtaken the ghastly scene. A voice rang out, one he didn't recognize, and too far away to make out the words. But definitely a voice. He took a deep breath.

"Help!" He screamed, putting the little energy he had left into making it as loud as possible. His head spun even harder with the effort, twisting purples and greens crowding the edge of his vision.

"Holy shit!" A voice cried, and something changed in his vision, which already felt as though it was darkening. He heard footsteps on grass as someone's body came into view, head blocked by the roof of the car.

"Oh, no, oh no..." The person's voice muttered to itself, filled with dread. "Paul! Paul! Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Who was Paul? Who cared, this person could help him. He groaned, in too much pain to get his lips to form words.

He felt the entire car shake with the weight of the person as they forced the door open, and he gasped sharply as they leaned forward and touched his arm.

"Oh hell, sorry mate!" The person apologized. He couldn't make out their face, but their voice was nasally. It seemed to shake as they continued. "Y-you're alive... I'm er, going to drag you out so I can see the damage... A-alright?"

"Okay..." He managed to respond, forcing himself not to scream as their hand brushed his stomach, searching for the seat belt. After they removed it, trying not to let it touch him in the process, they grabbed him under his shoulders and pulled him up. This time the scream was impossible to keep in, and the person dropped him in shock.

"Sorry!" They cried, sounding about ready to scream themselves. They hesitated and tried again, this time not stopping when the person they were picking up yelled in pain.

By the time the stranger had dragged him out the car, they were practically hugging him, supporting his entire weight. He leaned his head over their shoulder, having run out of energy to scream.

"Oh, Christ..." They muttered in a panic, opting to just bridal style it. They carried him a bit away from the car before setting him gently on the ground (which wasn't nearly gentle enough. His arm must've been on fire for how much it burnt!).

He lay on the grass as he heard the stranger walk away. They were leaving him already...? His mind feebly protested, but he could only lay there and feel the blood on his face dry.

"Hey you! Could you call the ambulance? There's been an accident!" Their voice called from a little away, obviously talking to another person. "My friend, he's been- Yes, I know I'm John Lennon! This is more important!"

 _John Lennon?_ He thought through the haze. It wasn't familiar to him, but John seemed to know him from the way he called him a friend.

"Yes, there's been a vehicle accident over by EMI studios. Get your damn ambulance over here right now!" He heard John scream into what was presumably a phone, farther away and muffled.

He tried his hardest to hang on, but everything was too much. He wanted to cry from the pain in his arms, on his head, and now on his legs. Everything felt bent out of place, as though one wrong movement and his arm would snap right off. So he sobbed a little to himself. Not enough energy to conjure actual tears, but enough to shake a little in fear and pain and despair. He was going to die here, he realized, feeling the life pumping out of him with each pint of blood he lost.

"You still alive?" John's frantic voice returned and he managed to make out his silhouette in front of the streetlight as he bent over. He tried to nod in response, but the motion caused him to whimper a little bit.

"Just... Hang on, please... I can't lose you too..." John seemed close to tears. A prick of confusion wormed it's way into his mind. How the hell did this guy know him?

"Paul, they're here, they're here!" The man shot up in adrenaline. "You're going to be okay, just keep fighting a little longer!"

 _Paul?_ Something creaked in his head but he was too busy being in pain to pay attention to the inaccuracy.

The sound of ambulance sirens was unmistakable. He groaned more as something touched him again. He felt himself lifted into the air on a cot, the sudden light streaming through his closed eyelids still too much to handle.

"Macca! You're okay! You're okay now..." John called again, and he peeked his eyes open at the man who had called him a second strange name in a row.

He took a deep breath.

"Who the hell is Macca?" He muttered, his last sight before passing out being the utter look of fear and confusion on John's face as the medics forced him out the ambulance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written ahead a bit but I'm still nervous about posting this in case I want to go back and change something, I'll let you guys know if I do. I do feel as though if I didn't post this when I did, I'd end up not posting it at all. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated, even criticism. I can take it. Yes, I'll cry for an hour, but after that hour I'll appreciate it very much.


	2. In which Paul comes to terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is less action and more plot. Essentially it's all dialogue. Relevant dialogue, but still dialogue.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

A heart monitor. His mind recognized the sound as he lay still with eyes closed, mind drifting into focus.

What happened? A hazy memory dug itself from his mind, and he flinched inwardly as he remembered being trapped in that dark car, glass digging into his arms and his body.

He didn't remember getting into that crash, he had just woken up that way. When did he get into that car? Who was that John person who saved him, anyways? He acted like he knew him.

He slowly opened his eyes and let them adjust to the room around him. He was laying in a hospital bed, his arms propped up. He felt a few bandages pressed against his face and even on his lip. He couldn't close his mouth fully with it, he noticed uncomfortably. The room around was white and sterile, as you'd expect any hospital room to be, with a few machines at his side.

He could see an overcast sky out the window. As he stared he heard the door open and met the gaze of what appeared to be a nurse.

"Oh, you're up." The nurse came closer, clicking the pen in her hand.

"Good morning..." He tried, smiling the best he could. It was best to be polite, after all, even in the hospital.

"Ah yes, good morning." The nurse smiled a bit. "Anyways, I have a few questions to ask real quick, sir, and then you can be on your way."

"What? You mean I can go already?" He startled. That soon?

"Yes, luckily the damage from your crash was minor. Your arms got beat up pretty bad, but nothing's broken. You ripped up your lip as well and hit your head, but luckily nothing too permanent other than that chipped tooth. I'd have someone look at that."

He nodded, his tongue feeling for the small bit of tooth just _missing_ in the front. That would probably look weird.

"Anyways, on with the questions. Can you give me your name?"

He opened his mouth, but didn't feel an answer push automatically to the front of his mind, like expected. His name. What was his name? He felt a prickle of panic begin to buzz in his stomach. His name! Everyone had one! Where was his? Why couldn't he remember?!

"I... I dunno?" He said, apologetic on the outside, but on the inside feeling nauseous. Who was he? Why couldn't he remember his name, or even what he looked like? What did he look like?

"I see... That's concerning." The nurse scribbled into her clipboard. "Your age, sir?"

"I... don't know." He confessed. He felt that of an adult, but otherwise his birthday was unknown to him. He couldn't remember celebrating it once, with anyone or...

His stomach twisted painfully as he realized what was happening to him. He felt his breathing get faster as the panic set in, but forced his body to stop. It would be no good to freak out in front of another person.

"Can you tell me what country we're in?" She asked.

"Britain." He nodded. That much was clear, he supposed.

"I see. Thank you for answering my questions. Allow me talk to the doctor about this." She nodded, letting a little polite concern show in her face as she briskly exited.

As soon as the door closed, he felt his heart speed up. What the hell was going on? His breathing sped up as he tried to remember something, anything that could give him a clue on who he was or what he was, or even anyone's face. Nothing. He knew nothing, was nothing. He felt something build up in his eyes as he began to shake. He pulled his legs closer to himself as he shook with tears, unable to move his arms from where they were propped.

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm himself enough so that the tears would stop flowing. This was fine, he would remember. He just hit his head, and it would all come rushing back, all at once, and he would have his identity back. It's alright. It's alright.

The door opened and he looked up. He felt a pinch of embarrassment as he realized his eyes were probably still red and puffy, but there wasn't anything to do about it.

"Do you know why you're of special concern?" The doctor got right into it, gripping a similar clipboard as he took a seat in a chair a couple of yards away.

"Yeah..." He nodded. "I can't really remember anything..."

"Yes, but you're not in the worst situation. The memories aren't completely gone, just blocked. You also seem to still have basic memory of language, etiquette, etcetera."

"Is there some way to force my memories back?" He perked up.

"No, if they ever come back, they'll come back in due time." The doctor frowned. "If they don't, well, you'll be okay. This isn't unheard of."

"If they don't?" He gulped, voice quieter.

The doctor moved on. "Anyways, your father is here to see you, as well as a few other people. Would you permit him to visit?"

"I... My father?" His head spun. He had a father, and yet the idea felt so terrifying, of a complete stranger being someone he was supposed to remember and love.

"No?" The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"F-first..." He took a deep breath. "Could you tell me my name?"

"Oh! Yes, of course, sorry. James Paul McCartney, a nice name. I'm told you go by Paul."

"Paul?" The name wasn't foreign, but he didn't associate it with himself at all, so it was a bit odd. Though it explained why John had called him that earlier. Paul's mind flashed to John's distressed face earlier and he felt guilty at causing that much confusion. "Hey, was there anyone named John Lennon waiting for me out there, by any chance?"

"Ah yes, the guy having a mental breakdown in the waiting room. Do you want him to visit?"

"Yes please!" He nodded, sure of himself. This was a person he was actually aware of, even if he had only seen him in the heat of the moment.

"Yes, I'll go check." The doctor stood up, making his way out.

Paul waited apprehensively, eyes glued to the door. A minute passed.

The door slammed open, scaring Paul who had already lost interest. John stood at the entrance panting, face red with no pretense as he stumbled inside.

"You're alright!" He stumbled in, shutting the door behind. The man rushed forward in front of the bed, hands outstretched and eyes wide in relief. Paul stared at him for a moment, getting a good look at his appearance. He had brown hair in a mop top cut reaching his shoulders and dark eyes that looked as though he hadn't slept in days.

John seemed to freeze from his stare for a moment before continuing. "What's that on your face? Does it hurt?"

"Oh. My lip got torn up..." he offered, still uncomfortable at the way this stranger got so close.

"What's the matter? Are you all right?" John frowned, seemingly unhappy at the way Paul wasn't giving him full eye contact.

"No... It's just..." Paul frowned, feeling like he was about to cry again. He was about to inevitably hurt someone who must've obviously cared about him a lot before this. "I... There's something really important that I have to tell you..."

"Yes, luv?" John smiled, pulling over the chair and sitting close.

"Something happened in that accident, that's gonna change everything, y'know, and... I'm sorry in advance if I'm about to ruin everything, because the thing is, I don't even know what I'm ruining, but I'm still ruining it..." He felt something wet drip down his cheek again as he rambled, still looking at the wall near his bed to avoid seeing John's reaction to his tears. He couldn't believe he was crying again, in front of this person no less.

"...What do you mean?" John asked, voice quiet.

"I... I'm... Who are you?" Paul looked John right in the eyes as he asked it, gaze hard.

"What?" John startled.

"I don't have the slightest idea of who you are." He made the tightest frown he could manage.

"What...?" John's glared back. "It's me, John! Your best mate? You know me, Macca!"

"Who the hell is Macca?" Paul barked back.

"That's your name, innit?!"

"I thought my name was James Paul Mc-whatever!"

"How the hell do you forget your own name?" John yelled back, angry in response to Paul's hostility.

"That's just the thing!" He yelled back, and they glared at each other for a moment, until John's expression morphed into one of surprise and almost terror.

"What...?" He muttered. "Are you serious?"

"Yes..." Paul said, voice small. "I actually can't remember..."

"You can't remember me? At all!?"

"No... Or anything, really." Paul looked to the side in shame. John was definitely going to walk out on him, if Paul wasn't the friend he remembered.

The silence seemed to last too long. Paul kept staring at the wall, listening to his pulse in his ears. Had John left? He risked a glance back in John's direction, and was met with a look of shock.

"You mean, really? Honestly?" he muttered. "You... can't remember me? Or George, or Ritchie, or...?"

Paul shook his head no, watching the fear on John's face multiply.

"What am I going to do?" John muttered to himself, a hand dragging down the side of his face in disbelief.

"What am _I_ going to do?" Paul whimpered, looking down from John's distressed expression. "I don't know where I'm supposed to go, or who I'm supposed to know, or..."

John stared at him then, and Paul paled under the intense expression that he found impossible to read. Was he mad?

"Okay, I'll help you, then." John seemed to come to a decision for himself, resolve replacing the distress in his expression. He put his hand on Paul's shoulder. "You're probably much worse off than I am from this."

"Of course I am!" Paul snapped, a little offended.

"I'll help reintroduce you to everybody, y'know, because there are a lot of important people in your life." John began listing off. "And I'll... Well, you can come stay at my house, since I doubt they'll let you keep your driver's license in this state." He turned to Paul. "I-Is that okay?"

Paul felt his heart warm at the concern on John's face. This person must've cared a lot about him before, to go to these measures now. "Yeah, thank you... I need this a lot. Thanks John." He smiled, feeling his joy skyrocket at the shy smile he got in return. This was okay. He would make it out of this fine. He was no longer a lost man, but a found one. Still confused and hurt, but found.

"Anyways, the doctor said I could leave as soon as I'm ready... Turns out I'm not as badly beat up as I feel." Paul continued.

"Really?!" John said in surprise. "That's amazing! When I saw you in that car, you looked practically half-dead!"

"I practically _was_ half-dead." Paul sighed. "If you hadn't come along... I was trapped in there, y'know, bleeding out and all."

"I didn't just come along..." John sighed. "You sort of... Well, never mind, that's not important, what's important is that you're okay now. When it happened I thought you were dead, mate."

"...I did die in that crash, didn't I?" Paul said quietly. "Or Paul did, right?"

"The hell are you talking about? You're right here, aren't you?" John smiled, patting his shoulder. Paul grimaced, which caused John to pull away rapidly, eyes worried in apology.

"But... Your friend, I'm not... I forgot you completely, that person with all those memories is gone, you'll never get him back! Don't you see?" Paul left out that there was a chance he could get his memories back. He knew a chance for good drama when he saw it.

"I will admit, that fact does make me sad, but you're still my friend, aren't you?" John glared into his eyes. "Nothing's changed about that. I'm not going to abandon you for something stupid like this, that isn't even your fault. Mostly."

" _Mostly_?" Paul questioned, deadpan, but couldn't help himself in giggling along to John's laughter. It was quite infectious. After a moment of laughter had passed, John turned back to Paul.

"Are you willing to go and see your dad right now?" John asked. "He seemed really worried."

Paul paled. "Won't he freak out?! This'll make it worse!"

"True..." John nodded and they both looked down. "Are you going to tell him, though?"

"I think... I'll wait. You can, uh, tell him that I'm fine and that I was just too tired to talk for very long..." Paul sighed.

"Yeah." John nodded, just as something slammed behind them. John twisted his body around quickly as Paul's eyes darted to the door. A man ran in, another on his tail, and the first shut the door behind them quietly.

"What are two you doin' here?!" John exclaimed, standing up. "The damn security in this place is tight!"

"We sneaked in!" The lankier guy smirked. He had a fuller version of John's hair, dark eyes and a sharp face that grinned toothily.

"Yeah, figured we'd just sneak through, seeing as they let John in to see Paul. Why wouldn't we be allowed?" The shorter one shrugged. His eyes were big and blue and he had a perpetual miserable expression on his face.

"N-nows not a..." John muttered feebly, interrupted as the pair rushed forward to Paul's bedside eagerly.

"So, you crashed yer car, did you?" The tall one jeered. "Bloody idiot, glad you made it out alright. Don't know what I'd do without me brother. Banged up your pretty little face, though, I see."

Paul flinched as the short one reached forward and messed up his hair. "Ignore him. Kid was crying up a storm as soon as he'd heard. Looks up to you, he does."

Paul didn't respond, overwhelmed. Was this guy his brother? Should he pretend he knows what they're talking about?

"...Paul? Did you lose your voice in that crash or something?" The short man's face grew worried. The other one just stared into his soul, expression icy under his bangs. Scary.

"J-John?" Paul muttered, embarrassment prickling in his face.

"Mates, something's happened to Paul that's a bit hard to take." Paul sighed in relief as the pair turned to face John, who was standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets in the middle of the room.

"What's wrong with him?" The taller one glared in John's direction.

"Is he traumatized or summat? Is that why he won't talk much?" The other one asked worriedly.

"No he's sort of, er, forgotten everything." John looked to the side, scratching the back of his neck.

The room was silent for a beat as the newcomers stared at John, expressions morphing from confusion to disbelief.

"What?!" They both exclaimed at the same time.

"You mean _everything_ everything?!" The tall one gaped. "He can't talk or nothing?"

"I can still talk..." Paul muttered, looking away from the other's incredulousness.

"So you mean he can't remember... us? Not at all?" The short one frowned.

"N-no... I don't know who either of you are..." It took Paul all of his willpower to stop more tears from slipping down his face. He'd cried enough for one lifetime. He forced his expression into neutral, to combat the absolute fear on the other's faces.

"You're serious. You two aren't pranking us again." The tall guy looked about ready to hurl.

The other stared for a moment, then looked over to his friend, taking in the same thing Paul saw. "Guess we'll have to introduce ourselves again, then, huh?"

That seemed to jolt him, who Paul hoped to finally learn the actual name of. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He looked up at Paul with a distant expression on his face. "Sorry, yer probably really confused by all this, I guess. Me name's George."

"I'm Ringo!" Shorty- Ringo stepped forward, considerably warmer.

"Oh, I'm Paul, lovely to be acquainted." Paul responded in a mock proper tone, bowing to Ringo as well as one could bow while stuck in a bed.

"Well, it seems your love for mockers hasn't gone anywhere." John joked. Ringo laughed a little, although George's expression didn't change.

"I think I'm going to go." George broke the silence, looking anywhere but at Paul. Paul felt his chest tighten at his emotionless voice.

"What? You okay, Georgie?" Ringo turned to his friend, John raising a suspicious eyebrow in the background.

"M' fine." George mumbled, voice cracking a little at the end, before storming out briskly.

"Oi, wait up! Sorry, Paul," Ringo frowned. "George just gets overwhelmed sometimes, y'know, he's a bit of a shy type. I don't think he was trying to be rude..." Ringo ran after his friend, still eyeing Paul apologetically as he closed the door.

Paul and John stared at the door in silence for a moment before looking back at each other.

"That's bad, I suppose?" Paul sighed.

"Ringo seemed to take it okay," John argued. "Just not... George. He'll come around, I hope."

"Yeah." Paul sighed. "I think I'm ready to leave now."

"I'll go get the doc." John smiled faintly, and Paul stared after him as he shut the door behind him.

 _This is going to be very strange,_ Paul thought with a tinge of sadness. This didn't happen everyday or to everyone. Just his luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending felt abrupt but this felt way too long for me already. I've read so many fics with hospital scenes that I sort of dread them now for how similar and boring they are, but this was unavoidable to write. Let's hope we don't return. Ever. 
> 
> I'm no experienced writer, so comments and criticisms are encouraged and appreciated asf!


	3. In which Paul gets home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, here's the new chapter. I've already started on chapter 5 and am gonna try to update every 3 days.  
> Also, I kept writing it as half-empty and going, 'No! Paul's much more positive than me!!!'

Paul sat with his legs up in John's car, observing the unfamiliar people and buildings drifting by. John was in the driver's seat donning thick glasses and seemed to be concentrating extra hard on driving. His turns were just a little too sharp, but he appeared to actually be trying his hardest to get through without incident. _Probably still has my crash on his mind,_ Paul figured.

"We're almost at my house..." John muttered, breaking the silence. Paul shifted uncomfortably in his seat and scratched the wrappings under his jacket sleeve. It smelled like cigarette smoke in here.

He gasped as they turned near what was probably the loveliest house he'd ever seen (though, in retrospect, he'd technically never seen one). It must've been a mansion, he figured as the car came to a dangerously abrupt halt. Just the steps leading up to the house were something to look at. They had passed through a gate earlier, but even that hadn't prepared him for something this grand.

"Impressed?" Paul heard the teasing in John's voice as he leaned out from the driver's seat.

"Yeah! It's beautiful!" Paul beamed back, feeling like an excited child about to explore a new playground. However, the response must've not been what John was expecting because the grin was wiped off his face and he sighed. Paul frowned as John stepped out the car, the vehicle shaking. Did he mess up somehow?

Unbuckling, Paul jumped out the car and let his excitement flood back. He didn't expect this at all, and knowing that despite the situation he had a nice place to stay and someone to help him out was a massive weight off his shoulders. He could even spot a pool from here!

"Which room do you want?" John called, already on the steps.

"Oh, how many are there?" Paul responded, running a bit to catch up.

"...I'll just choose one for you." John opened up the door, nodding to a someone inside.

"You have a housekeeper?!" Paul whispered loudly.

"Suppose I do." John didn't hold open the door and Paul had to rush forward so he wouldn't get hit by it. He followed John through the house, which felt even bigger on the inside, to a door near the stairs.

"This one's nice," John said as he let Paul investigate the inside. It had everything you'd expect for a guest room, as well as some odd art littering the walls, though Paul didn't point it out.

"Thanks John," Paul turned to his friend. "I'm glad you stepped in and helped me, I'd be really confused otherwise!" He laughed, a little embarrassed. "I'm just thinking, how could anyone be that nice?"

"I'm just that amazing of a person, is all!" John lifted his head importantly.

"You are!" Paul beamed, but noticed John's expression sink again. What was he doing wrong?

"Anyways," he turned away, changing the subject. "What are we going to do? How do you suppose we get my memories back?"

"How?" John asked as Paul sat down on the bed.

"Well, there has to be a way, isn't there?" Paul reasoned. "Otherwise what's the point?"

John didn't respond right away, instead nervously tousling with a bit of hair. "...Do you want me to hit your head or something? Maybe that'll fix it."

"Of course not! That'll just hurt!" Paul pouted. "Surely there's a way you could remind me or something, like showing me something important from my life?"

"I get it." John nodded. "Stay in the house, I'll get your things from yours!"

"Oh, good idea!" Paul smiled as John dashed away. He found himself mostly alone in the house. Not able to resist himself, he began to sneak around the manor, feeling as though he were breaking some sort of rule.

Other than the large amount of big fancy rooms with odd furniture and artwork as well as a few skittish cats, there was little that caught Paul's attention on the first two floors. Might as well keep going, he told himself, as he made his way to the third floor.

"What are you doing?" John called from below him.

Paul nearly jumped out of skin but quickly recovered, composing his face to be as blank and innocent as possible as he turned around, halfway up the stairs. "Just looking around, y'know." He jumped down quickly. "Sorry, I won't do it again."

"What? I'm not mad." John sighed. "Whatever, let's go, I got your things. I already had them brought to your room."

"Thanks!" Paul exclaimed. A loud ringing interrupted them and John turned slightly, running a hand through his hair.

"That's the phone, let me get that. You go on ahead." John muttered, seemingly upset. Paul just nodded and left, not wanting to be around for an upset John.

After a bit of wandering he managed to reach his room. John had set his things on the bed, and Paul gasped as he neared. The first thing that caught his eye was a guitar, hanging out of a case. A big, shiny thing with a very long neck, the design reminiscent of a violin. Was he a guitar player before?

The other things on his bed were just clothes and regular things strewn about, things you would assume would belong to anyone. There were a few records as well, he noticed, stacked in a neat pile. Sifting through them, he realized he didn't recognize a single one. Frowning, he set them back down, looking to see what else had been brought.

"Well?" John padded in, looking a bit ruffled.

"Nothing." Paul sighed. "I've never seen any of this stuff before."

John's shoulders drooped in disappointment, but then he seemed to light up. "What if you try playing the bass? Maybe that will help?"

"Oh, it's a bass guitar?"

"...Of course it is!" John cried, distressed. "Why are you putting it on, it's not even plugged in!"

"Sorry..." Paul looked down. He was already messing up. This was supposed to help!

"Enough with the puppy eyes. I'll go get an amp, I've got some upstairs." John frowned.

"Really? Thanks!" Paul called back, but John had already bolted again. He questioned why John had an amp handy. Did he play guitar too?

"Alright, here." John trudged back in, struggling with a heavy amp and a cord hanging from his arm.

"Oh, let me help!" Paul exclaimed, running forward, but John just pushed past him and dumped it on the ground with a grunt. He grabbed the bass and connected it to the cord, the cord to the amp, and the amp to the wall. He strummed a note, which bounced out the amp, so deep it was almost painful to the ear.

"Here you go," John muttered, helping Paul put it over his head.

"Isn't this backwards?" Paul frowned, feeling it from the bottom. It was satisfyingly smooth, as if it had been well-taken care of its whole life.

"You're left-handed, you bleeding idiot." John snapped.

"Why are you so grumpy all of a sudden?" Paul asked, shifting a bit. "What's your deal?"

John glared for a moment, before his expression softened. "Just play the damn bass. I know you've still got it in you, mate."

"Okay..." Paul sighed and tried to position the guitar so he could play it easier. He positioned his right hand on the neck, waiting for a rush of memory or _something_ that would tell him what he was supposed to do. With his left hand he tried to strum, but the sound came out wonky from the way his other hand was positioned.

"No?" John asked with another sigh.

"Sorry..." Paul sighed back with the same level of dejection. "I don't know how to play at all. There's no... Y'know..." He shook the guitar a bit in frustration.

"...It's alright, I can just teach you again, I guess." John didn't look up at him as he spoke.

"What? Why? Is it urgent?"

"A little bit, yeah."

"Why is it-"

"Do you want supper?" John interrupted him, eyes filled with new vigor.

"...Sure?" Paul responded, baffled at the interruption, before rolling his eyes. "Wait, you're obviously hiding something now. Why do I have to relearn the bass?" He waited for John's response as he took off the bass and set it gently in the case, apologizing inwardly to his normal memory-ful self in case he messed up.

"That's all a big mess right now and I don't feel like talking about it." John finally responded, visibly miffed.

"Ah. Sorry for asking. Later, than?" Paul smiled, trying to cover up his curiosity with politeness.

"Later is okay, I guess. Let's go eat now. The mental strain of taking care of an invalid is starting to get to me." John shook his head in despair.

"Oh, come off it, you bastard." Paul scoffed, holding back a giggle.

"There's the Paulie I know!" John prodded him playfully as they made they made their way out the room.

"What? Is the "Paulie You Know" a massive arse? I don't think I like this Paulie fella." Paul crossed his arms and huffed. "Think I'll have a word with him."

"He's in there somewhere!" John grinned, leading them into the dining room. "For now I'm stuck with you, bastard!"

"Bastard?! I just said that, you unoriginal twat!" Paul clenched his teeth in an effort to not laugh. It was almost working.

They entered the dining room, only for Paul to jump. Sitting at the table was none other than Ringo, from earlier that day. Paul lifted a shaky finger. "H-how did you..."

"Ah, Ritchie, nice to see you!" John smiled, approaching the man with outstretched arms, only to give him a pat on the back instead of a hug. _Standard fare, I suppose,_ Paul's mind suggested. "Glad you made it. Where's little Georgie?"

"Oi, don't call him that, you know he hates it when you say stuff like that." Ringo grinned through his food, already halfway through some beans off a plate.

"But he's not here!" John relaxed into a large chair at the end of the table, 2 seats away from Ringo (Ritchie?). "And I reserve the right to baby our cutesie little Geo to hell and back, since he'd rather be off having a wank than eat with the lads."

"He was pretty upset earlier, though." Ringo spoke contemplatively, and Paul could see John actually considering his words.

"I suppose..." John sighed. "Hey Paul, stop standing there like a deer in a restaurant and sit down!" John called before digging into his meal, which, oddly enough, was not beans.

"...Okay." Paul smiled nervously, his playful mood having fizzed out, and slid quickly into one of the seats on the far side.

"Your seat's here," both John and Ringo called in unison, pointing to a seat to the left of John, on the same side as Ringo. Some food had already been placed there.

"Yes, of course." Paul skittered around the table to "his" seat (whoever he had been felt like a lifetime's worth of a different person), looking nervously away from anyone's eyes. He ended up looking at his plate, which was a mishmash of foods he couldn't name. It smelled good, at least.

"Hey Paul, how are you doing?" A soft voice to his right jolted him and he looked up to Ringo, a seat away, looking at him kindly.

"What? I'm fine. Everything's normal." Paul blinked, trying to keep his face neutral. He wouldn't want to betray anything.

"If you say so," Ringo turned back to his food and Paul exhaled, before tensing again as Ringo continued. "Though, you should probably talk to George."

"I should?" Paul frowned. "About what, specifically?"

"Well, he's your friend, isn't he?" Ringo reasoned.

"Isn't he my brother? You said that earlier, didn't you?" Paul pointed out.

"I mean," John cut in, mouth full of food. "You two were about as brotherly as two unrelated guys get. As in, you fought a whole lot, but still cared about each other in the end."

"I see." Paul sighed. "Then it makes sense that he was so disoriented when... Well, all this happened." He sighed, picking at the injury on his lip.

"He'll come around, if you talk to him." Ringo reassured him. "Anyways, John, where's Cyn off to?"

John froze for a moment before resuming his cutting. "Vacation."

"Who's Cyn?" Paul inquired, curious.

"No one important."

"His wife."

John and Ringo answered at the same time, respectively. They paused for a moment, and Paul caught an exchange between them that he couldn't decipher with their expressions, before John took the reins again.

"I'm done eating. I'm going to the attic. Paul, don't go near that gate outside." John stood up very suddenly, plate half-full.

"Why?!" Paul called after John, who was already storming out.

"Doesn't want you to escape, does he." Ringo grinned, meal finished. "He means well of it."

"I'm an adult! I should be able to go out! Who is he to stop me?!" Paul complained, despite not having really thought about going out at all previously.

"...It's dangerous out there for you." Ringo sighed. "Just don't, okay? I'm telling you this as someone who cares."

"Be cryptic, fine with me, the person who literally knows nothing about anything." Paul muttered, leaning forward and resting his chin on the table, the food almost intimidating in the new perspective.

"I'm off." Ringo stood up, plate empty. "Got some things to do at home."

"What things?" Paul asked lazily, still not moving from his position.

"Y'know, help with the kid and all."

"You have a kid?!" Paul sat up, genuinely shocked. "Erm, not that you don't seem mature enough, I was just surprised, is all."

"No need to apologize." Ringo laughed. "Be seeing you." Ringo made it to the door out the room before pausing, seemingly remembering something. "Also, I invited George over to eat at my place for dinner tomorrow, and I want you to come. That all right?"

"Bamboozle him, eh?" Paul smiled. "But wait, how will I get there?"

"Ask John, he's coming too."

"How do you know?" Paul asked nervously.

"Well, when you ask him he'll tag along. It'll be nice to know who's place he'll be popping into for once."

"He does that a lot?" Paul looked at the ground in contemplation. "...Nevermind, I definitely see it. I'll be there, see you!" He waved to Ringo as the shorter man left, the sound of the door slamming being the last sound Paul heard before the room was silent, other than the wind and distant wind chimes outside.

Sighing, he looked down at the table. Ringo had left his empty plate, and John had left his half-full one. Paul's untouched plate completed the trio. Staring for a moment longer, he realized he wasn't hungry in the slightest. He thought over the day's events. It was a big mess of emotions, he concluded, then remembered his bed.

He had to clean it of piles of stuff if he wanted to be able to sleep tonight. Sighing, he marched over to his room, managing not to get lost for once. The room had already been flooded with darkness from the window. He flicked on the light.

The bed was empty, the only item left on it being some pyjamas laid neatly. Walking over, Paul checked inside the dressers. All of his clothes were folded inside, the records stacked on top next to a classy record player. The closet had a few clothes inside as well, and his bass had been set on a stand against the wall, shining in all it's glory.

_Did John do this?_ He asked himself as he strolled over and sat down on the bed, feeling the soft pyjamas with his hands. They looked high quality. He resolved to thank John the next time he saw him.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter in two since it was getting so long so sorry for the weird cutoff.
> 
> Also, I find myself adding a lot of detail to things most fic authors would just skip past, and I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Is it hard to read??
> 
> Comments and criticisms appreciated!


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